


Pomegranate

by sapphi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 17th Century, 2P Hetalia, Alternate Universe - Historical, Body Horror, Ghosts, Historical AU, M/M, Murder, Versailles - Freeform, but they'll come back as vengeful ghosts, historical setting, i cant write porn, implied sex, is this necrophilia, ish?, or tags, slight gore, slight psychological horror, you can bury your gays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 04:10:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15941522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphi/pseuds/sapphi
Summary: It's the 17th century. It's France. The court is a place of intrigue, mystery and seduction. And Gilbert becomes reluctant participant of its games when he draws his own knife.Or; the morbid ghost adventures of Gilbert and Luciano.





	Pomegranate

_August 2, 1673_  
  
The air was suffocating in the dimly lit room.

Gilbert was in the corner, knees to his chest and hands over his eyes and maybe, maybe he was shaking. A fragile scared child, but one that had messed up and had done something awful. The prominent silence was broken again by Luciano and Gilbert flinched.

  
"I said look at me," Luciano had never been particularly patient in private, and the incident months ago had robbed him of what little patience he had left.   
  
Gilbert shook his head. He had only seen him for a second, less than that, but the image burnt itself into his eyes and mind. Luciano had done this before; showed himself to Gilbert when he brought someone else to his bedroom, watched and waited (sometimes in the form that Gilbert had last seen him before burying all evidence, blood-stained and lifeless. Sometimes in the form of a child.) He heard the other take a breath, pause, then speak again. He was torn between loving that voice and fearing it.Lately, the later had been winning out.   
  
"You have some audacity, waltzing in, then ruining my life and now throwing away my gift and not even  _looking_  at what you've done to me."  
  
"I didn't throw it away," Gil replied in a quick, quiet tone. "I put it away- because it reminds me of you and... that, and I can't look at it. It... it hurts."  
  
"It's your own fault. You know that. And you know what  _really_  hurts? Having your lover--"  
  
"I know. I know, I was wrong, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. But please, I..." Gilbert's eyes were closed despite his hands preventing him from seeing anything, but he still felt like it wasn't enough. "I can't... What do you want me to do?"  
  
That was new. Luciano paused again, thinking. What  _did_  he want? Gilbert had apologized a week ago, but Luciano never believed in the naive 'forgive and forget' philosophy. Perhaps he wanted justice for what Gil had done, for him to feel  as miserable as Luciano did, but. Right now...  
  
"Get the necklace."  
  
"Right now?"  
  
"Obviously," And because Gilbert still hesitated, "You can keep your eyes closed or face the wall."  
  
That was when Gilbert nodded and stood up, using his hands and memory to find his way to the door to the other room. He glanced around to find the box, Luciano's presence like cold air against his skin. It wasn't locked and, with a light creak, Gil opened it to take the necklace. It was simple. He liked simple, and Luciano liked giving him what Gil liked, be it flowers or kisses, comfort or promises of forever.  
  
"Put it on." Luci's eyes lingered on the object (one that hadmeant a lot to both of them but now was tainted) in Gilbert's hands. They moved, putting the necklace around his neck tentatively. "Do you miss it?"  
  
"Yes. And I regret ending it. Ending your life."  
  
"That's a gentle way to put it," Luciano said, trailing a finger over the metal. "Do you remember when I gave that to you?"  
  
"Oh, yes, you got back from that little trip to Italy and threw a basket of fruits and foods at me. That was romantic." Gil couldn't help but smile and, because the way he did that made it contagious, Luciano did too. Though there was a bitter taste of melancholy to it.  
  
"You loved it. Also, it didn't actually hurt. And I didn't throw it, I shoved it into your arms."  
  
"And shoved me. On a bed. Before getting huffily possessive and, uh. You know."  
  
"It's been years since we've met and you still cant talk about things even remotely sexual." Luciano almost laughed, overwhelmed by the familiarity that this brought.  
  
Maybe he still loved him, underneath anger, resentment and distrust. But maybe he still loved the memory.  
  


* * *

  
_May 28, 1670_  
  
What sort of man would willingly own those awful bedsheets?  
  
It was the first question that shot through Luciano's head, made his soft, skilled lips form a genuine smile when he entered the bedroom. Gilbert smiled back, of course, clumsy and shy and maybe nervous, almost tripping over his words and feet.  
  
He gestured tothe bed, "And this is where I lie awake at night, consumed by want and longing for some good goddamn pomegranates." His laugh was intoxicated and intoxicating. Hand over his mouth, he looked at Luciano, blushing some.   
  
"And what do you do when you're not fantasizing about exotic fruits?" He didn't waste time and took off Gilbert's coat and shirt, kissing his neck while his hand was busy undoing his pants. The flustered reactions he received only made this all the more fun.  
  
"I sleep like a normal, lame human. Maybe after tonight I could fantasize about..." He giggled, looking away in embarrassment and trailing off. So inexperienced. But Luciano was fond of it. He was fond of the honesty, the awkward flirting at the party where despite the shining, pompous clothes and decorations, Gilbert caught his eye.   
  
God, he wanted him.  
  
And the more time they spent afterwards, in the mornings or the days after, continuing their talks about Voltaire or far away countries or mundane things where they left off, the more he wanted him. One night became multiple nights, those became a habit, then a constant, then a promise. A declaration of love.  


* * *

__  
September 5, 1671  
  
"Flavia, if you don't hand me over that letter this instant, I'll burn your shoes!"  
  
She merely looked back at him for a second, still giggling and laughing, still stepping from furniture to furniture with her bare feet, jumping on the couch and a chair and down again in quick movements.   
  
It was hard catching up. She always had been the more active sibling, used any opportunity to climb on trees, regardless of the damage she'd cause to her clothes. It still fit her character, Luciano often thought. Restless, child-like, and a pain once she got her hands on something that she could tease him about.  
  
She opened the envelope and took the paper, exaggeratedly gasping in fake-shock after reading the first line. "My dearest Luciano!"   
  
"Flavia, I swear-!" He threw a pillow at her, cheeks taking a faint red color. She lost her balance and fell, and that was when Luciano took his chance and grabbed the letter. As he went to his bedroom, he could see his sister from the corner of his eye, mimicking a passionate, over-the-top make out session.

 

* * *

 

_September 24, 1673_

Looking at Luciano's sister was painful. Stabs of guilt and realization. Gilbert often saw her alone, turning down everyone who tried to talk to her, staring out the window and waiting. She always seemed to be waiting and sometimes when a visitor came, a smile lit her saddened face but that light went out as soon as she rushed outside and saw that it wasn't her brother, again and again. It never was her brother.  
  
She'd ask Gilbert where Luciano was hiding. (" _His job is dangerous, I know, I know, but I'm his sister, and you're his lover and if I don't know where he is then you must know, you can tell me - please tell me, I can keep secrets."_ )  
  
Often it made Luciano think that this was the worst part about death. Not the pain in his last moments or the betrayal or the lost life but what it did to her. It changed her, broke her. He'd give anything to reach out a hand to her and to make her  _see_  him and hear him say that he's alright -  but doing that in his situation and state might only worsen the situation and make her lose the chance of recovery she had. No, he wouldn't haunt her or risk ruining her.  
  
One day she appeared at Gilbert's door. Her frail hand held a wine bottle and her sleeve was soaked with tears, her face and eyes red. Her smile merely made her look all the more devastated when she, voice low and cracked, said: "He's not coming back, is he?"  
  
And Gilbert could do nothing but shake his head and hold her close as he whispered the predictable words of comfort that Luciano hadheard pastors or family members say to crying people every time someone died.Interestingly, he still couldn't decide whether they helped or not.

 

* * *

  
_November 17, 1673_

After a busy day, Luciano's voice was a pleasant sound to Gilbert's ears. He was near a headache, extremely glad the day was over and he now could rest near his lover. Gil kicked off his shoes and let himself fall back on the soft, inviting bed, closing his eyes with a groan.  
  
"Today was eventful, huh?"  
  
He whine-groaned again then, bringing his hands up to his eyes to block out the little light there was, "Mhmmm..."  
  
Luciano looked over the tired body from the chair he was sitting in, like one would inspect a painting from one's youth. Wistfully, in a way. He stood up and moved next to Gilbert (who cracked an eye open at the new weight on the bed), leaning down to kiss his neck.   
  
"I've missed you...," he mumbled, one hand taking Luciano's. He was getting used to the coldness by now.   
  
"I've missed you more." As predictable as it was, Gilbert tilted his head to give him more access and mumbled something that Luciano couldn't quite decipher. A kiss here, and there, and another one, gentle like the ones in countless little memories. One hand moved over Gil's clothed chest, trailing down in a soothing movement.  
  
"Did he kiss you like this?"  
  
"... Excuse me?" Gilbert was sure he misheard, but he opened his eyes to look at Luciano.  
  
"And touch you like this?" He stopped kissing his skin for a moment - his smile still present - to draw Gil's attention to his hand. "Did you know that I could see? Maybe you liked that, wouldn't be the first time you have strange preferences. Did you take him to that lake I showed you after we made love the first time? Oh, don't give me that look, you know I can't leave this house and I'm awfully curious."  
  
Gilbert moved away and stood up. He felt as if the temperature dropped, further and further with each word Luciano spoke. "... Why are you saying this?"  
  
"Do you know how I felt? And feel? Though really, there's no difference between those two."  
  
"Luciano."  
  
His gaze didn't move away from Gil, but his expression changed to something more serious. "I feel fucking cheated on, Gilbert." There was no reply yet even after seconds, to Luciano's irritation, so he continued. "And you know what I want - what would make me feel less like a jilted wife or cuckold -, so don't ask that."  
  
"No."  
  
"No?"  
  
"I can't do that. I won't... won't-"  
  
"Kill someone?" Luciano raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised. "But you didn't have a problem with that when you killed  _me_." The words were raw, stabs of guilt and shame to Gilbert's heart.  
  
"I didn't plan on doing that. It just happened."  
  
"Just like you didn't plan on fucking him?"   
  
Gilbert pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down, trying to form a sentence in his mind that wouldn't make the situation worse. "That was months ago. I didn't want to be alone."  
  
"It's  _your_  fault that you were 'alone'. Just do this for me. You owe it. You hurt me, he hurt me, so you owe me. And this time you'll even have a proper reason and none of that reputation shit!"  
  
"It wasn't just that and you know it, Luci. Ludwig's future--"  
  
"Don't call me that. You would've found a way to settle it. I wouldn't even have told anyone."  
  
"I didn't think back then. I'm sorry. If I could undo it, I would, I'd..." He ran a hand through his hair, facing Luciano again.  
  
"Then do this for me. If you care so much about me, kill him. You can't bring me back to life and you didn't tell my family - not even my sister! I had no funeral, you buried me in that goddamn forest - so at least do something to make up for throwing yourself at the next-best guy and make me feel better."  
  
"Two wrongs don't make a right. What about  _his_  family? He has a sister, too. And parents, and friends, like you did." For a moment, Gil considered getting the wine. Whiskey. This would be a long night.  
  
"Look; you killed to protect Ludwig's future, didn't you?" Luciano didn't wait for an answer and went on, after all he was sure he knew Gilbert better than he himself did, "You'd do anything for your loved ones. So. Kill to protect me. It's not that different. Those are your morals. This isn't about justice or being a good person in the eye of common understanding of what's right and wrong, you don't seem to care about that. Which, alright, I can get. But this is about showing that you care for me."   
  
He gave it a moment to sink in. The only sound came from the curtains being moved by the wind, drawing all their attention to just the two of them and what Gilbert would reply - but he took too long.  
  
"Do you love him?"  
  
The question visibly hit Gilbert off guard. He waited for a moment, processing what he just heard, eyes narrowing in confusion. "... What-"  
  
"Is that it? Do you love him more than you promised you loved me?"  
  
"No!" Now it was shock that gripped him, made his eyes widen. His mind wandered to memories of nights in a bed, smiling and laughing, reaching their hands up with their fingers intertwined as they declared their undying forever-love that would outlast even themselves.  
  
"Then why do you refuse to do this for me." It wasn't a question. Luciano knew what Gilbert would answer, just like Gilbert knew what Luciano would say to him in return. He watched Gilbert lower his head and sit down on the bed.  
The sheets still looked as awful as they did the first time he saw them.  
  
"I love you," Gil said in a quiet voice. "I really do, Luciano. I've never loved anyone more than I love you. And never will. It's just..."  
  
"... Just that you need some time?"  
  
He nodded. Luciano didn't answer, didn't say a word, only took Gilbert's hand and kissed his forehead. Using his other hand, he tilted Gil's head up and instantly pressed his lips against Gilbert's, pulling away too quickly to press them to his neck, sweeter than before and comforting.  
  
His expression was a question and the way Luci pressed up against him was the answer.  
  
Gilbert made little sounds, Luciano pressed and caressed where he knew he needed to in order to make Gilbert writhe and their limbs soon were tangled. They were moving in their own rhytm that they found and kept over the years. Whispers of "I love you", "I'm sorry", "please stay." They were a mess of glass shards and edges that fit together and filled the holes in each other's hearts.  
  


* * *

  
_November 18, 1673_

An ideal morning often starts with one's arms around a lover, head on a familiar shoulder, a certain contented afterglow. And that was somethin that Gilbert had been blessed with. Gilbert nuzzled into the skin, "Good morning, my love", but didn't get a response. He moved his hand to pull Luciano closer and cover his face and neck and chest in kisses, adore him endlessly like he often did back then, but felt something hard.   
  
He opened his eyes and immediately regret washed over him.  
  
A scream escaped his lips, emptied his lungs and he flinched and moved away at the sight of a mangled corpse with rotting, partly missing skin, exposed muscles and bones sticking out and-  
  
"My eyes are up here." The voice - Luci's voice - was cheerful, a joking tone contrasting to what he was. Gilbert felt sick already, incredibly sick and terrified, he felt his stomach twist and throat tighten, but looked at his face. Glassy eyes and more missing skin, more blood at his throat and lips - or what was left of them.  
  
They curled upwards, clearly amused as morbid it was. Gilbert screamed again - maybe he didn't even stop screaming after he saw Luci's rib and entrails - and crawled backwards until he fell off the bed, eyes still wide open with panic and fear.  
  
"Ouch. My ear. Did I scare you, my love?" He sat up and put a hand to the gaping hole near his abdomen to prevent something from spilling out. "You look so pale. Like a corpse, tsk."  
  
"What the fuck are you doing?!"  
  
A surprised pause later, Luciano tilted his head (intentionally or not, exposing more bare muscle fibers, stretching the wound at his throat). "You loved my body last night."  
  
A cold shiver ran down Gilbert's spine and he moved back further, reaching the wall. He needed more space. More space. More distance.  
  
"Tell me, how much longer do you want to wait before you kill him? Until my skin is gone? My flesh? Eyes? Or would you rather go to  _him_ now?"  
  
Gil was shaking and covering his eyes, fingers pressing into the skin of his cheek and forehead. "Stop!  _Stop!_ " It was clear from the tenor of his voice that he was crying, but Luciano didn't have what he wanted yet, and wouldn't stop until Gilbert would give in and oblige.  
  
"I'm asking you for one thing. One. That's all I want and all I need."  
  
"He's my friend!"  
  
"So am I! I'm your lover! You ruined my life, you ended it, just for once prove that I can trust you!"  
  
"And then what?! You'll ask me to prove it again and again whenever you have some sort of suspicion-"  
  
"Gilbert."  
  
"-or I don't act loyal enough and look at someone twice-"  
  
" _Gilbert_."  
  
He didn't answer, biting his lip and sucking in some air, then breathing it out shakily. "I'm so scared. I'm scared. I'm-..." He was cut off by a sob but didn't bother continuing. All that he wanted to say and would say was hanging in the air.  
  
Gilbert feared him, yes, but he also feared being alone, both of them knew that.  
  
And Luciano didn't want to be alone either.  
  
His desire for revenge - justice - was fading in comparison to his longing for the man he thought he wanted to ruin. The kind of longing that formed one giddy laugher, two knowing smiles at a time, building up and up until both were intoxicated by something far more potent than the alcohol that made their steps on the way to the bed or out of the ballroom so unfocused. ( _Have you ever done this before? - No, no, but this feels right._ )  
  
But maybe, he could ruin  _and_  love him.  
  
"I won't ask you to kill anyone after this."   
  
And Gilbert agreed to it.  
  


* * *

  
_November 20, 1673_

Nervously, awfully nervously, Gilbert led the lamb to his room and bed and pretended to him that this would be a fun night to indulge in curiosity, that he didn't kiss him and didn't let him touch him and told him to not take his clothes off because it was all part of something he wanted to try. It was all part of it, the blindfold was part of it, but Gilbert didn't include Antonio's warm laughter in his plan, the trust he oh so naturally had in him and showed through patience and naivete.  
  
God. Oh god.   
  
He could see Luciano standing in the corner, expectantly but not frowning, not smiling. Just waiting. Gilbert could feel tears, could feel his throat tighten with each knot he tied to restrain Antonio in case something went wrong (he prayed that it wouldn't happen. That he wouldn't have to attempt twice, thrice, watch as the realisation hit his friend).  
  
Deep down, Gilbert hoped the entire time that Luciano would step in shortly before the blade would cut along Antonio's neck, like God testing Abraham but telling him to stop before it was too late because he had the proof he needed, but.   
  
It didn't happen. It was a quick movement of the wrist and the breathing was gone, his voice never to be heard again. Gilbert felt like he couldn't even bring up the strength to sit upright and needed to support himself, one hand on the wall, the other on the bed.  
  
Not-that-warm lips pressed to his neck and shoulder in comfort. "Thank you." He repeated it in an attempt to convince Gilbert, over and over again.  
  
"I..." He stood up, slowly. "I need to... to..." His voice was something in between a mumble and whisper as he untied the body. Antonio's expression was peaceful. Closed eyes and an almost-smile.  
  
"Hide him?"  
  
"No..." Gilbert shook his head. "No, I can't. Shouldn't..." Words, words, words.   
  
"You can and you should."  
  
He turned to look at Luciano, confused, tired, pleading. "But his family."  
  
"You didn't do that back then with me either. It'd be unjust."  
  
"I don't want to make the same mistake again..."  
  
"Do you love him more than you love me?" Luciano's voice was ice, a cold blade. Gilbert shook his head, biting his lip. It had become chapped in the last few months and often bled when there was too much stress, when things were too much, too overwhelming.  
  
"I don't love him. And didn't."  
  
"Then don't do more for him than you did for me."  
  
Silence filled the room. For a moment, Gilbert considered lying to him and bring Antonio's corpse to a street where he would be found - Luciano couldn't leave the building and its gardens and forest, after all - but he knew that he would find out. News like that would be heard everywhere in Versailles.   
  
He nodded.   
  
By the time the sun rose, Gilbert was back and the body was a few feet under the earth in the forest.


End file.
